Immortal Coil (A Dragon Spirit Novel, Book 1)

by Black, C. I.

  Anaea shrugged. “Yeah, well. It’s weird for me, too.”

  Don’t improvise, Hunter said.

  Sure. I’ll just become the unsociable silent Hunter.

  He harrumphed and she got the sense she wasn’t far off the mark on his actual behavior. It was a little sad. She at least had a good excuse for cutting herself off from the few friends and family she had. He just chose a solitary life.

  My job doesn’t allow attachments.

  She didn’t really know what his job was so she couldn’t comment. In fact, she knew very little about this man... spirit... creature... whatever. And without a doubt he was holding things back. She could feel it. If she just had a few more pieces to the puzzle everything would make sense.

  I doubt that, Hunter said.

  “Well, come on.” Grey motioned to the door. “Can’t keep royalty waiting.”

  Hunter snickered. Royalty didn’t mean much to him, but she couldn’t determine why. Loyalty, however, did. And he was loyal to Grey. She got the sense that Hunter had been friends with Grey for a long time.

  A very long time.

  The image of Grey pulling a heavy medieval helmet off his head and grinning back at her flashed through her mind’s eye. He wore classic, knight-in-shining-armor armor except it was covered in filth and blood and dents.

  Hunter had said his people were old. It was still just so difficult to wrap her mind around it, though.

  Grey grabbed a sword from a rack by the door and led her back down the hall to the circular stairwell. Instead of going up, they went down four flights to the very bottom. The illumination here was dim. Before her rose two towering arches, filled with blinding light, and beyond she could hear the rumble of many voices. She wasn’t as exhausted as she’d expected with all the physical activity she’d done over the last however many hours. But adrenaline still pounded through her with every rapid beat of her heart. And she didn’t feel like a gladiator any more, but a Christian being led to the lions.

  Grey thumped her on the back. “Happy hunting.”

  She stumbled but caught her balance before falling.

  “Sorry, forgot. Half your usual size.” He handed her a heavy sword, turned, and headed back up the stairs. She could only guess that ‘audience’ seating was accessed on an upper level.

  So. She hefted the weapon. What was it with these people and swords?

  So. Hunter almost sounded apologetic. Then images and emotions and thoughts flooded her mind. She was drowning. They rushed over her, filled her, pressed against the essence that was her and permeated through her. They moved so fast she couldn’t grasp onto any one thought and examine it. All she could tell was that they were violent, desperate, primal. Years upon years of struggle and death, edged with a strange satisfaction.

  This was who Hunter really was. He was a hunter in the most basic of terms. No, that was what hundreds of years had made him. Deep down, at the very beginning, she sensed the spirit of a proud, majestic creature. A leader in his own right, not one subservient to a Prince.

  Sadness crept through her, and as abruptly as the experience began, it ended. He was not going to allow her to see his true soul, only the warrior he’d made himself into.

  She fought a hysterical giggle, but it escaped. The whole situation was crazy. She knew—not in any specific kind of detail, but still—violence. Hundreds of years of combat experience.

  That wasn’t supposed to be amusing, Hunter said, his voice dry.

  I think I know Kung Fu. She couldn’t resist.

  He groaned. Obviously he’d watched that movie as well. Too bad this wasn’t some Matrix-like dream.

  You only know it mentally. Your muscles don’t know it at all.

  What does that mean?

  Fighting is more reflex, more muscle memory, than anything else. You train until you don’t have to think about it, Hunter said.

  So why fill my mind with— You know?

  Because some knowledge is better than nothing. The overtones of what she was about to face swept through her, and she couldn’t ignore the inevitable any more.

  Great. She stepped to the edge of the closest arch and peered out. It was too bright. She’d have to step into the light, blind, and hope there was honor among Hunter’s people.

  CHAPTER 10

  Transferring his memories had been the only thing Hunter could think of to save Anaea. Sure, she was glib about death. She thought she was already dead, but that wouldn’t help him. Besides, she wasn’t dying any more.

  Boy, that was going to be a shock.

  If they survived the next ten minutes he’d consider telling her. Of course, that was only if he could finish the rebirth ceremony and sneak away from Court to find a new body without anyone noticing her soul was still present. The Mother of All only knew how they’d managed to escape so far.

  He was in so much trouble. He’d already told her too much. If anyone found out she knew anything about dragons, regardless that he’d managed to keep that particular detail from her, she was dead. Dragon law demanded she be hunted down and eliminated to keep dragon-kind safe.

  He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the matter at hand. First, survive the duel. Then they could deal with her illicit knowledge of dragons.

  His martial experience was extensive. His last body he’d picked up during the Fifth Crusade and with it he’d survived hundreds of battles. He’d studied style after style to ensure his place close to the throne, because a drake without a coterie was a victim waiting to happen. But passing his knowledge to Anaea might not be enough.

  She stepped into the light and squinted, refusing to close her eyes against the brightness. Good girl. Welkin would be disqualified if he attacked before Regis made the proclamation, but if he got in a killing strike the point would no longer be debatable. Hunter would be dead. His soul would be absorbed into the heart medallion at the center of the arena and he’d be one of the three dragons being reborn at dawn instead of Welkin.

  Anaea’s vision cleared and she studied the man before her. He was small, thank the Mother of All, but Hunter didn’t know what kind of magic Welkin possessed, if any.

  The crowd went silent and Anaea glanced up.

  Regis stood in the royal box, his arms raised. “By the power bestowed upon me by the Mother of All, I proclaim the wasu tahazu begun.”

  The crowd burst into a deafening roar and Regis sat.

  Nod, and get your eyes on your opponent.

  She nodded and turned her attention back to Welkin.

  In a way, he was Hunter’s doing. Three hundred years ago, Welkin—who’d been Eton at the time—had pissed off Regis and Hunter had been sent to reclaim his soul. Welkin was a product of rebirth. He had no memory of his previous life, only what was permanently imprinted on his soul, that he was a blue drake, the lowest member of his coterie, and a baby, by drake standards.

  Hunter had never bothered to ask what Eton had done. That wasn’t his job. And these days he asked even fewer questions. Go out. Get the soul. But perhaps avoiding questions and politics had gotten him into this predicament. If Welkin had been told about Hunter’s current weakened condition, it might explain why he’d called—or been goaded into calling—the fight. Nothing else would possess anyone to make the challenge. Hunter had had one of the most powerful earth magics at Court: null magic. Which made it difficult, although not impossible, to use magic against him. With magic mostly out of the equation, a wasu tahazu became a matter of martial prowess, and Hunter was efficiently deadly. And as soon as this was over and he had a new body, he was going to turn that prowess onto whoever was responsible for this mess.

  If only Anaea could call her fire. Even just a few small balls of flame flying through the air might be enough for Welkin to reconsider the challenge. Fire was as rare as null magic and almost as powerful.

  You can do this. The probability that he has magic is slim, which means my skill will be more than enough to take care of him.

  I can do this. But sh
e didn’t sound confident.

  Yes, you can.

  Welkin flashed his teeth, a demonstration of aggression or sexual attraction—in this case Hunter doubted the fight had anything to do with sex. The young drake swished his sword, a two-handed blade close to four feet long, and started to circle to the left, but didn’t come any closer. Anaea matched him step for step, but also didn’t close the distance.

  Interesting he’d pick Hunter’s preferred weapon. Then he saw the faint crackle of electricity along the blade. Anaea saw it, too, and her heart pounded her fear through her... their... body.

  Stay calm.

  But you said he probably didn’t have magic.

  I was wrong. Most of us don’t have anything dangerous.

  She gulped air. Swords are bad enough.

  It’s just lightning.

  She bit her lip, stifling a manic laugh.

  He couldn’t bring himself to tell her lightning was significant. It was surprising Welkin had managed to spend the last three hundred years with that earth magic and not have drawn Hunter’s attention. Again, it made him wonder if something more was going on than just a simple wasu tahazu.

  He searched for Anaea’s connection to the earth’s magic, but it remained elusive. Oh, for just a little fire.

  My kingdom for a flame, she said.

  What?

  Nothing.

  He’s got the advantage with distance, his arms are longer.

  Which means we need to eliminate that, she said. He could hear the resignation in her voice. She had his memories and knew, as well as he did, that for someone with her lack of experience close combat was the last thing she wanted.

  You’ve no choice. You need to end this fight before it can begin.

  She ground her teeth and gave a barely perceptible nod. If anyone was paying exacting attention they’d know something wasn’t right. While he was a thoughtful combatant, he never spent an excessive amount of time considering his options. They had stood in place for too long.

  All he could do was hope everyone would chalk it up to him not being familiar with his new body. It was a big difference from what he’d come from. His over-six-foot-tall, well-muscled Crusader had been perfect for the job of Prince’s Assassin. Tiny Anaea, at five and a half feet and just over a hundred pounds, wasn’t your standard warrior type.

  Close the distance.

  She inched closer, still matching Welkin’s wary circling.

  Lightning danced along Welkin’s blade. He needed a physical focus to maintain his magic. He wasn’t as strong as Hunter had first thought, which meant the lightning was new. Some dragons didn’t develop earth magic until an extended period in their human body... and while this was all interesting, it could still kill them.

  You’ve got to move in faster.

  I am.

  But he could feel her hesitation. It took a lot of courage to ignore one’s natural desire for self-preservation and throw one’s self into the path of danger.

  No, rush him. Don’t give him time—

  Lightning arced down the sword.

  Anaea threw herself to the side, curling herself into a ball at the last minute. She rolled to her feet, sword up, and rushed at Welkin without missing a step.

  Perhaps his transfusion of memories was more effective than he’d thought.

  She brought her sword down in a fierce overhead swing. It was obvious. Too obvious.

  Welkin blocked and rammed his hilt into Anaea’s blade, knocking it aside. Anaea clung to her sword and twisted, dodging Welkin’s thrust.

  She stumbled away and renewed her guard, but had missed an opportunity to gut her opponent. Not that it would finish the fight. The only surefire way to kill a dragon was to take his head.

  I’ve got to what? When were you going to tell me this?

  If I had told you before you started the fight would you have stepped into the arena?

  Probably not. But don’t you think there was a more appropriate time?

  We can argue about it later. This is a duel to the death. It’s his or ours. And I’ll be damned if it’s ours.

  Welkin jabbed at her. She parried, and lightning danced from his sword to hers, zapping her hands.

  She gasped, but held onto the weapon. Welkin swung again. She parried again and he countered, more lightning crackling over her. It charred her T-shirt and seared her skin, leaving painful black welts that Hunter could feel, even disconnected from her body.

  Welkin forced her back toward the arena wall. Her breath was already labored and her mostly-healed body wouldn’t last much longer with the stress and physical exertion. Hunter had to figure out how to end this, and fast.

  He’s going to jab when you back into the wall. Your next two steps.

  I know.

  Take the thrust.

  Do what?

  He could sense her panic and tried to keep his voice calm. He hated taking an unnecessary injury in a fight, but in this case the end justified the means.

  He’s going to play with us. He’ll jab for the gut or chest before he takes our head. Take the thrust, it won’t kill us. I heal too fast for that. And while you’ve got his blade trapped in your body, take his head.

  Welkin swung again. She stumbled back. Hunter saw the gleam in the other man’s eyes.

  Here it comes.

  Welkin lunged. Lightning danced up his blade as it slid between her ribs. She gasped. Pain exploded through her.

  Now. Do it now. He felt her struggle, the pain threatening her consciousness. Control of the body flickered between them, but she kept hold. Her force of will squeezed him back until he watched everything from the end of a long tunnel.

  The fire of earth magic washed over him and ignited in Anaea’s mind. She lifted her sword and swung. It imbedded in Welkin’s neck; she didn’t have the strength to sever his spine.

  Welkin howled and pulled his sword from her body. She sliced her blade down and across, severing both arteries.

  Blood spewed from his neck, bathing Anaea, and he dropped to his knees. As serious as the wound was, he’d still heal. An arterial strike would only incapacitate him for a minute, maybe a little more. She had to finish him now. Take his head. It was the only way.

  Strike again, he yelled, but she couldn’t hear him. He was too far away.

  Her magic crackled just under her skin, pulsing with her heart. Her breath gurgled and the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth. She dropped her sword and grabbed Welkin’s face in both hands. Blue fire, called by instinct and desperation without gesture or incantation, burst from her fingers. It raced over his body and he wailed as the flames devoured his too-human flesh. Black smoke billowed around them and the acrid reek of burning skin washed over her.

  The powerful magic of the arena medallion flared to life, blinding Hunter, even from his distant vantage point, trapped deep in Anaea’s mind.

  And then it was over.

  The crowd burst into a thunderous cheer as Anaea sagged to the arena floor beside Welkin’s charred and soulless corpse. The front of her T-shirt was stained with both her blood and Welkin’s, but her wound was already healing, the tissues knitting back together.

  She coughed. Her mouth filled with blood and she spat it onto the arena floor. Let’s not do that again.

  He could have laughed. Mother of All, he was so proud of her. An unblooded warrior taking on a drake with lightning.

  The thought was sobering. She should never have been put in this situation in the first place. He should have minded his own business and let her jump off that bridge.

  Of course, then he wouldn’t have gotten to know what a strong woman she was. She was a warrior and he had to find a way to get her body back to her. She deserved at least that much.

  You’ll never have to do that again. I promise.

  She shuffled back to the double arches where she’d entered. Now I really deserve that shower. A few stitches. A panicked giggle escaped and she bit her lip. How in God’s name am I still alive?


  That’s long and complicated.

  Of course. And let me guess, it involves magic. Eventually all this will bite you in the ass. She sighed and leaned against the arch at the edge of the darkness. I guess that would be my ass. Since my ass is currently your ass.

  And for a moment he wished her ass was his. He shut that thought down fast. It was completely inappropriate given the circumstances and he couldn’t afford to think of her that way.

  Since we’re on the topic of magic, I thought you said Welkin wouldn’t have any.

  I thought we were talking about your ass?

  Don’t avoid the question.

  If she wanted to know, he’d tell her. Fine. One of the side-effects of my people’s… condition is magic. The magic, or rather energy, is everywhere, and it’s particularly in our spirits.

  You mean your people’s spirits are magic?

  Yours is, too, but not to the same extent. We call it spirit magic. But what you have that we don’t is a connection to an external magic, earth magic.

  Earth magic?

  The ability to do things like create gates, or make lightning or fire. It’s dormant in you, and only about twenty percent of you have the connection, but our spirit magic can waken it.

  So I could do anything I wanted?

  At the moment he really wished she could. They wouldn’t be in this predicament if he could cast spells like a true sorcerer. No. We can’t cast spells, only true sorcerers can. Usually we can only do one or two things, and often that second thing is being able to open a gate between dimensions. He checked the connection within her but it remained thready, as if she could only access her earth magic when desperate. Your connection is still developing and I wouldn’t consider it reliable.

  So no making a magical gate and getting the hell out of here.

  No.

  Lovely.

  As soon as I take care of business here, we’ll leave.

  She pushed away from the arch and stepped into the darkness of the corridor. A hand seized her and shoved her against the wall. Her head hit the stone and lights danced across her vision.Promises, promises.